Undaunted - Diana Palmer

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sort of women you probably know,” she said instead.

      He shrugged. “They all start to look alike after a while. Feel alike. Sound alike.” He sighed. “I suppose I’ve gotten jaded in my old age, Emma. Women come and go. Mostly they go. I’m thirty-eight. I’m slowing down. I sent the last one away a couple of weeks ago. The one you put through to me recently,” he added with pursed lips.

      “Oh, dear.”

      “You’ll learn who gets to talk to me and who doesn’t.”

      “Do they take numbers and stand in line?” she wondered.

      He chuckled. “Not quite.”

      It felt comfortable, lying in bed with him. She liked it very much.

      “I should go to bed,” she said.

      “I guess you should.” He sat up and felt for her arm, pulling her up gently with him.

      “Is your head better?” she asked as she got to her feet.

      “Much better.” He cocked his head and smiled wickedly. “If I get another migraine, will you come back?”

      She laughed softly. “Not without some promises from you first.”

      “Coward.”

      “You bet.”

      He drew in a breath and stretched lazily. Watching him, Emma almost moaned at the way he looked, half-dressed. He was beautiful, like a painting. Like a sculpture.

      “I’ll see you in the morning, then,” she said abruptly, because she realized she was enjoying the sight of him a little too much.

      “Thanks, Emma,” he said suddenly.

      “You’re welcome. I’m glad your head’s better.”

      He just nodded.

      She went out and closed the door.

      He groaned and put his head in his hands. His body was in agony. She wasn’t like his other women, and he wanted her. But she’d expect a commitment, a wedding, the whole nine yards if he gave in to his urges. So what the hell was he going to do now?

      Down the hall, Emma was wondering the same thing. She loved kissing him. She loved having him hold her. She should have resisted more. Instead, she’d enjoyed everything he did to her.

      It had felt like descriptions she’d read in one of the romance novels she loved to read. She’d dreamed of a kiss like that from a man who’d love her and marry her and make a home with her.

      But she had to keep in mind that Connor was a millionaire—maybe even a billionaire. He lived life in the fast lane. Casinos and shows on Broadway and all things glamorous. She’d never fit into that world. And she’d better remember that he didn’t want marriage or children. It would be madness to get involved with him, even in an innocent way.

      Beneath all that was the memory that she’d blinded him, that he couldn’t see because she’d gone wild in a speedboat on a lake where one had killed his only brother. She shivered as she thought of the vengeance he was likely to take if he ever found out who she really was. It had been insane to do this, to think that he might soften if he got to know her, that she could tell him and he’d forgive her. This was a man who never forgave anyone, who repaid in kind every transgression. This was a man who didn’t know what mercy was.

      She didn’t sleep much. By morning she’d made a decision. It wasn’t an easy one.

       Four

      Emma went to breakfast the next morning, dragging her feet. She was going to put in her notice. It made her sick to think of leaving him. It was the last thing she wanted to do. But she was susceptible to him. Vulnerable, and he was used to women who thought nothing of climbing into bed with him. She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t who she was.

      She walked into the dining room, head high, determined. And...he wasn’t there!

      Confused, she sat down. There was only one place setting, for her.

      Marie came in with a platter of eggs and sausage. She knew that Emma loved sausage best of all the breakfast foods. She added buttered biscuits to the platter and pushed a jar of homemade blackberry preserves toward Emma.

      “My favorite foods,” she exclaimed. “Wow! Thanks, Marie.”

      “You’re very welcome,” the older woman said gently.

      “Where’s Mr. Sinclair?” she asked with her eyes lowered.

      “He actually went to a conference.” She laughed. “It’s the first time since he was, well, you know, that he’s left the house at all. He said it was time he got back into the swing of things and took care of business. He took his attorney with him. You’d like him. Alistair Sims. He’s British.”

      “Oh, my,” Emma exclaimed. “This is a small mountain community. He’s British and he wanted to live here? Well, Bear Lake, where we are, is a small town. But we’re near Gainesville, which has over fifty thousand people.”

      “Closer to thirty-five thousand.” Marie laughed again. “Yes, Alistair married an American woman and moved here years ago. She died, but he never went home. He said he felt closer to her here, where she’s buried.”

      “What a sweet man he must be,” she replied.

      “He’s very kind. He can keep secrets, too. That’s important to a man like Mr. Sinclair. You wouldn’t believe the problems money can make for someone who’s wealthy.”

      “I can’t, and I don’t mind it at all.” Emma beamed. “I’m happy with my life.”

      Marie stared at her. “You make people around you happy, too, Miss Emma,” she said softly. “Mr. Sinclair actually laughs now. He never did before, even when he could see. He was always somber and cold. You’d never know he had a sense of humor. Not until you came along.”

      “That makes me feel very good,” Emma confessed. Inside, the guilt was still eating her up, though. Not even what Marie was saying made a lot of difference.

      “Well, I’ll get back to work. Call me if you need anything, Miss Copeland.”

      “Just Emma,” she corrected, smiling.

      “All right, then. Just Emma.” Marie smiled back.

      * * *

      The house was suddenly empty. Cold. Haunted by memories. Emma walked into the study that Connor used for an office and felt the emptiness like a living thing. When Connor was here, his very presence filled the world. He brought color and life to the house. He seemed larger than life.

      Now, without him for the first time since she’d accepted the job, Emma began to realize just how much the big man meant to her. It was dangerous, those feelings. For one thing, she couldn’t afford to become involved with him, in any way. She lived in fear that she’d slip up, and then he’d finally realize who she was. Even though nobody had seen her in the boat the morning of the accident, he was rich. If he wanted to, he could afford plenty of detectives to seek her out.

      But he didn’t remember how he’d been hurt. That was her only solace. It gave her the opportunity to look after him, take care of him, make up a little for what she’d done. But if he ever found out...

      She shivered, even in the warm room, thinking about how vindictive he was. Mamie’s words rang in her ears. Connor always got even with anyone who crossed him. His vengeance, if he realized that the same woman who’d blinded him was working for him, would be absolute. He might even think she’d done it for another reason, that she was playing him, trying to get money out of him. She knew already that he’d give her anything she asked for, because he was fond of her.

      But she hadn’t asked for anything. She never would. She worked

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